


A Tactful Solution

by Ias



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post BOFTA where Thorin is king and everything is happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:26:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diplomacy is hard, and Thorin is sensitive. Luckily Bilbo is there to help with both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tactful Solution

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt by [shaherazade-21](http://shaherazade-21c.tumblr.com/) for nose kisses.

Thorin stormed into the room. Bilbo wasn’t always fond of hyperbole, but “stormed” was the only word that fit the level of silent menace and not-so-silent stomping that always accompanied Thorin’s particularly moody entrances. Years of stewing in constant low-grade rage had helped him perfect his angry stride, and even with the progress they had made in lowering the King’s blood pressure, he still tended to clomp around as if the floor had insulted his entire ancestry. 

This time his shoulders were flung back, his eyebrows beetled, his hands clenched into metal-clad fists at his side. He strode right past Bilbo with hardly a glance, tearing off his outer coat before collapsing belly-first onto the bed. For all of his kingly habits, Thorin certainly knew how to channel his inner toddler. 

Bilbo sighed and gently closed the tome on dwarven architecture he had borrowed from Erebor’s library, smoothing his hands down the ancient cover before climbing to his feet. He took his time, stretching the kinks out of his back and rubbing the back of his neck before making his way over to Thorin’s sprawled form. He was currently trying to kick his boots off without sitting up to unlace them; Bilbo grabbed his ankle with exasperation and quickly tugged them off for him. Thorin had yet to say a word, but that was hardly surprising. He probably had a mouth full of royal pillow right now.

The boots thus dispatched, Bilbo walked around and sank onto the bed beside him and set to work on his gauntlets. Dwarf armor had far too many buckles and clasps in Bilbo’s opinion; it was like they took every possible precaution to avoid being naked. Bilbo stuck with the gloves and boots for now, saying nothing as his fingers went through the well-practiced motions. Thorin limply obliged until both his hands were free, and Bilbo could give one a squeeze. With Thorin more comfortable and as yet nonverbal, Bilbo pulled his feet up so that he was sitting cross-legged and rested his palms on his knees. “So. What was it this time, then?” 

Thorin grumbled something unintelligible into the fabric of the coverlet. Bilbo patiently waited for him to roll over onto his back, his dark hair still strewn over his face, and begin glaring a hole into the ceiling. Going from the adventure of the road to the hornet’s nest that was Erebor’s politics had been a difficult transition for Thorin. It was so much simpler when you could merely stick a sword in all your problems, as opposed to sitting down to discuss them and ultimately making a compromise that ensured no one was happy. Luckily for him, though, Bilbo happened to be quite good at peaceful relations. Together they’d been figuring things out, but not without a few bumps in the road. 

Thorin stared straight ahead at nothing for a while longer, neglecting to do anything except direct a glower at the stones above that could have boiled them like dragonfire. When he finally did speak, his voice was short and taut. 

“The meeting with Dain’s people went poorly.” 

“I gathered,” Bilbo said. “What happened this time?” 

“Things were said. Sentiments were exchanged. At some point weapons may have gotten involved.” 

Bilbo sighed. There was a time when a vicious altercation between dwarves would have sent him sprinting back to his hobbit hole to brew a gallon of tea and smoke until the danger passed. How boring that life seemed now. “Well, Dain is your family. I suppose this sort of bickering is inevitable. It’s hard to hate anyone more than those directly related to you.” Bilbo leaned forward, edging into Thorin’s field of vision pointedly. “But I suppose you realize that you’ll have to apologize.” 

Thorin’s eyebrows knitted together. “I will do no such thing. Not until Dain offers me a similar gesture first.” 

“You and I both know that’s not going to happen. Everything will be easier if you can swallow your pride—or at least suppress it for a few moments—and take the first step.”

“I’m the King,” Thorin grumbled. “I should be able to do what I want.” 

“You would think that’s the case. But we both know better, don’t we?” Bilbo ran the tips of his fingers up and down the lines on Thorin’s palm. “What did Dain say to get you so riled up?”

“Horrible things. Truly backhanded insults. Things that aren’t even true, really, and just shouldn’t be pointed out, it’s—it’s impolite.” Bilbo hid a smile at that last bit—perhaps he was having more of an effect on Thorin than he realized. Or to be more accurate, he was affecting him just as much as he suspected. 

Thorin fell silent for another long moment of contemplation, the look in his eyes growing increasingly suspicious, before blurting out: “Is my nose really that big?” 

Bilbo managed to keep his laughter in for a good five seconds before it burst out of him in gales, shaking his shoulders and doubling him over. When he got himself under control Thorin was glaring at him as if he had ridden in on Smaug’s back, but that only made his giggles return with a vengeance. “Is that what he said to set you off? Really, Thorin,” he said with a grin. “I’ve known hobbit children less sensitive than you.” 

Thorin ground his teeth and said nothing, and eventually Bilbo sighed. He uncurled his legs and lay down so that he was propped up on his elbows just by Thorin’s head. With deft fingers he combed the hair away from his face and smoothed it down again. 

“Thorin,” he said with a smile, resting his palms on either side of the dwarf’s face, “you have an enormous nose.” The dwarf looked up in surprise, which quickly turned to indignation. “Honestly, it’s ridiculous. But you know what?” Bilbo leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on the bridge of Thorin’s nose. “I quite like it.” 

The frown had lightened a bit from Thorin’s face, but he still looked disgruntled. “You’re just saying that.” 

“I’m not, but don’t try to pretend that you wouldn’t appreciate it if I was.” 

That coaxed a smile out of him, and Bilbo leaned down to brush a kiss to his lips. Then he pulled back. 

“Really though, I’m not really sure how you see anything at all with it wagging around in front of you. Every time you turn around I’m amazed you manage not to decapitate everyone standing at your side. Impalement is a constant hazard in your presence—”

Thorin threw a pillow at him, which was quickly followed by a kiss. Neither was enough to make Bilbo stop laughing.


End file.
